


love and all its meanings

by inverted_paradox



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anxiety, Coma, Dubious Science, Gen, Hospitals, Irondad, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Tony Stark Lives, Trauma, spiderson, this is not a ship fic if you ship them die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:35:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25490224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inverted_paradox/pseuds/inverted_paradox
Summary: people can't always be brave when the word is so cursedORTony and Peter are scared to lose each other again.
Relationships: Happy Hogan/May Parker (Spider-Man), Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 15
Kudos: 145





	love and all its meanings

**Author's Note:**

> this is a request filled for @archervale on tumblr! i hope you enjoy :)

Six months after Tony snaps his fingers, he wakes up.

Peter isn’t there when he does; he’s in his apartment with May, trying to piece their lives back together when he gets Happy’s call. Fifteen minutes later, he and May are on the way to the private hospital where Tony has been kept safe while in his coma. Peter barely remembers the ride there, even less the thoughts that cross his mind. He does remember May speaking to him, but the words are muddled and thick with emotion.

When May parks the car, Peter almost collapses when he opens the door, his legs shaking like he’d never used them before. Grasping May’s arm for balance and comfort, they walk up towards the building. Happy greets them at the entrance of the hospital, haggard and jittery. He regards Peter with a gaze that is disbelief, hope, and fear all rolled into one. Peter lets go of May’s arm to collapse into Happy’s. Peter wraps his arms around the man’s midsection as best he can, squeezing to the point where he is sure it is painful. Happy weathers it and simply hugs Peter back. After a few breaths, Happy releases Peter, offers May a small smile and turns towards the automatic doors

Peter feels heavy with a slew of undefinable emotions as he and May follow Happy through the maze of hallways to Tony’s room. The trio are met with the figure of Pepper Potts leaning at the threshold of the door. She looks exhausted, her auburn hair knotted against her head, a far cry from her usual composure. She looks like she just woke up, dark circles under her eyes and clothed in purple sweatpants and a black AC/DC shirt that’s only slightly too big on her. She watches as they approach, and as they get closer, Peter sees that she’s dangerously close to crying. But there’s something in her teary eyes that Peter hasn’t seen since Tony’s sacrifice – like finally something in her soul was at peace. Her small smile solidifies it.

“He’s not really lucid yet,” she says in lieu of a greeting as they come to an antsy stop just shy of the door she seems to be guarding. “But he’s semi-conscious.”

“Can we see him?” Peter asks, his voice small and shaking. May squeezes his upper arm.

“Once the doctors are done doing their checks,” Pepper promises, looking at the covered window. She fiddles with her wedding ring on her finger. She heaves a breath, and another wet smile graces her mouth. “He opened his eyes.”

May gives a sigh of relief, and Peter feels one of Happy’s hands land on his shoulder. Peter is shaking under Happy’s careful grasp, staring at the door. He isn’t sure what he’s waiting for. He’s not sure of much; the only thing he’s sure of right now is that Tony woke up. Tony’s awake. “Should I call Jim?” Happy asks Pepper, and Peter feels his thumb press into his shoulder, a gesture of comfort. Peter releases a breath, and the next one in is a little easier.

She contemplates it for a moment, hesitant, and then suddenly she deflates ever so slightly, like the high of her joy had settled into something back down on earth. Peter notices the change, and he feels the weight of his anxiety shift. Now, to his utmost horror, he feels like leaving. He draws a sharp breath that no one seems to notice

“I don’t want to get Morgan’s hopes up,” Pepper sighs, and it’s as if she’s preparing for Atlas to lose his hold on her world again.

Happy shrugs, a guise of nonchalance, ignoring her implications, but he does squeeze Peter’s shoulder again before letting it go. The spot aches in his absence, and Peter feels a knot build in his throat. “Jim and I can trade places. I don’t mind watching the little monster.”

Pepper lifts her gaze to him, and they exchange some sort of silent conversation before she smiles again, though the shape is a little more brittle than it was before. “Thank you, Happy,” she whispers.

Peter feels Happy’s hand on his shoulder again and he lets Happy turn his body to face both him and May. Peter looks Happy dead in the eyes, trying his best to keep himself from breaking down right there in the hallway. “Hey,” Happy says, moving his hand to clasp at the back of Peter’s neck. He leans down a little, and it makes Peter feel like a child again. He’s surprised to find it comforting. “Give boss a ‘hi’ for me,” Happy says and Peter can’t miss the redness in his eyes and cheeks. Surprisingly, there’s little fear in his eyes, like he has all the trust in the world that everything will be okay.

Peter doesn’t trust his voice, but he manages a nod. Happy squeezes his neck twice before releasing him, standing straight, and turning towards May. They exchange a tight hug and Peter doesn’t miss the featherlight kiss he presses against his aunt’s temple. They release and Happy turns towards the corridor, down the way they had come. He vanishes around the corner.

May then turns her attention to Peter, wrapping him up in a hug. He melts into it easily and presses his nose into her neck. She presses her palms into his back and sighs softly. “How’re you feeling, baby?”

Peter feels another surge of emotion assault his throat and a hard tremor runs through his form. He feels a third hand press against his lower back and instantly knows it’s Pepper.

He opens his mouth to say something, but only a weak wheeze comes out. May’s arms tighten around Peter, and Pepper embraces the pair of them. For a few blessed moments, Peter really feels comforted and loved and truly at peace. Someone moves though, shifts slightly in the tangle of limbs, and reality slams into him and everything rushes back.

“I –,” he tries again, his voice a terrible rasp. He swallows the emotion further down his throat and tries again. “– I don’t know.”

“That’s okay,” Pepper reassures. “There’s a lot going on, and a lot could still happen, but he woke up and that already means a lot.”

“I’ve been avoiding him,” Peter admits, though he’s sure they both are aware of that already. Their embrace gets impossibly tighter. “I…I just –.” He breaks down then, the sudden and heavy wave of guilt crashing over his head. He chokes on his breath, and if it weren’t for May and Pepper, he would’ve collapsed in a miserable pile on the tile floor of the hospital.

“Oh, Peter, it’s all right,” May soothes gently, rubbing her hands across his shoulder blades. “Nobody blames you for wanting to stay away.”

“Morgan hasn’t seen him once,” Pepper says, and Peter can feel the weight to the words. “I’d want her to have…good memories of him, you know,” she pauses for a moment, gathering herself. “Just in case.”

Peter nods and he will admit that it made him feel a little bit more seen. It doesn’t override the agony, though. “I still should have visited,” he mumbles miserably.

“You’re here now,” Pepper assures, and Peter moves away from May’s neck just enough to see the sincerity in Pepper’s steady gaze. “And that’s all that matters.”

There is a soft click as the door that leads to Tony’s room opens. Peter wills himself to not jolt at the sound, and both May and Pepper untangle themselves from him. May tucks Peter into her side, as if he weren’t three inches taller than her, and they watch as Pepper greets the doctor and nurses that emerge from the room.

“Virginia,” the doctor greets, opening her arms and giving Pepper a quick hug. Peter thinks he recognizes the doctor, but behind her mask and covered head, it’s hard to tell.

“Helen,” Pepper breathes, and they release, though Pepper grasps the doctor’s gloveless hands with a vivid intensity. She doesn’t need to say anything.

“He’s going to wake up,” the doctor, Helen, says, and something inside Peter finally uncoils. May must feel it because she leans into him ever so slightly. Pepper nods vigorously and drops her gaze. One of her hands goes to her mouth and her shoulders curl upwards. It’s clear that the tears that were brewing in her gaze are finally starting to fall.

Peter doesn’t realize he’s crying until he tries breathing in, finding it difficult. May sniffles beside him.

“He’s still going to be on the ventilator for a while longer,” Helen continues. “Just to make sure his lungs are strong enough. We’ll have to run some more PET scans to ensure that everything is healing as it should. You and I will talk later about setting up a surgery date, just to tie up any loose ends concerning his arm.”

“His arm?” Peter finds himself saying, though he can already guess well enough what she means.

Helen looks up at him from where she was talking to Pepper and he can see her eyes crinkle in something that may have been a small smile. “His right arm had to be amputated,” she says gently. “The gauntlet essentially fried it when he had snapped.”

As if Peter could forget.

Helen turns her gaze back to Pepper. “If we may, I’d like to consult with you about a few things before we begin moving forward.”

“Sure, of course,” Pepper says, her voice barely a breath. With that, the pair of them walk away, down towards where Peter assumes are empty sitting areas. The nurses around the door begin to disperse, except for one who moves to stand in front of Peter and May. She beams at them like there’s absolutely nothing to be afraid of. She reminds Peter of the lunch lady at school who has a gap in her front teeth and always calls him “baby.” He likes this nurse.

“You two can go see him if you’d like,” she says, laying a gentle hand on Peter’s left wrist. “He’s sedated right now, but I’m sure he’d appreciate the company.”

“Thank you so much,” May says with a smile. “We really appreciate everything you all have done for him.”

“He brought my daughter back to me,” the nurse says with such a powerful sense of gratitude it shoots Peter to his core. “It was the absolute least I could do. He’s a fighter.”

Peter and May both nod and smile, and the three of them turn towards the door. The nurse puts her hand on the handle, pauses for a moment, and then turns back to them, her face slightly more drawn than it was before. “I’ll let you know that it will be startling to see him hooked up to so many machines, but I promise you that it is normal, and in a few weeks’ time, he’ll be off of most of them.”

May seems to take the information in stride, the nurse in her used to seeing these kinds of things. Peter is a little more uneasy, and he’s suddenly, viscerally reminded why he’s stayed away for so long. He feels his heart pounding in his chest as the nurse opens the door. Peter and May follow her inside.

The room is fairly dark, illuminated by only a few strips of LED lights. In the corner of the room, by a window that looks out over a small expanse of New York suburb, is Tony. Laying on a bed, surrounded by so many machines and wires it almost makes Peter queasy; if Peter doesn’t know better, he looks like he’s dead. The clicks of the ventilator and the steady beats of the heart monitor fill the room with the promise of life. And, just beneath the wheeze of Tony’s beaten lungs, is the wonderfully irregular sound of his heart.

Peter’s breath catches in his throat. Tony’s alive. Really, actually, alive.

Peter must have spoken out loud because the nurse gives a small chuckle. “And I am sure he will be chattering away at us the moment he’s able to.”

A breathy laugh escapes Peter at that. A moment passes and Peter steels himself, moving away from May and stepping closer towards the bed. His heart sinks as Tony comes better into focus; while he may be alive and more or less awake, he doesn’t look good. The skin around his eyes looks bruised and dark. His skin around his mouth looks dry and the tape that’s sticking to his face irritates the skin under it. The tubes that come from his mouth are sickening to look at, but it pales in comparison to the scarring on his face and neck. Thankfully, the wounds themselves look healed, no blood or bruises visible anymore, but the white tendrils that crawl just beneath the surface of his skin are almost otherworldly. If Peter looks closely, he swears he can see hints of vivid color tinging the edges of the darker patches of skin that mar his face: colors that reminds Peter of the stones. He blinks hard, struggling to swallow the lump in his throat.

Then Peter notices Tony’s right arm. It’s hard to spot through the tangle of tubes and the sprawl of hospital fabrics and blankets, but there is an empty space tucked into Tony’s side where his arm should be. Peter futility looks across Tony’s chest, distantly, stupidly hoping that maybe he had tucked his arm towards his torso, like Peter knows Tony does when he’s nervous. But the curve of his chest is normal, and the space at his side is empty.

“Like I said,” the nurse says from behind him, her voice loud against the ventilator’s clicks. “He looks worse than he is.”

“When will I be able to talk to him?” Peter asks, unable to take his eyes off his mentor.

“You can talk to him now, Pete,” May offers. When Peter looks back at her, she just shrugs at him. “Can’t do any harm.”

Peter turns his eyes back on Tony and sighs. “I guess not.” He moves to sit in a chair next to Tony’s bed. He settles down, but he can’t think of anything to say. His brain is on a loop, and none of the thoughts are discernable. He grimaces and elects to stay quiet, smothering the urge to clutch Tony’s hand that isn’t there.

“There’s a call button on the wall,” the nurse says, her voice further away, probably at the door now. Peter can feel May’s presence beside him. “Just push it if you need someone.”

With that, she leaves the room and shuts the door gently behind her.

Peter leans his head against May’s hip, closing his eyes at the sensation of her running a hand through his hair. “He’s gonna be okay,” May comforts. “He’ll wake up and then the two of you will be giving me and Pepper heart attacks again in no time.”

Peter huffs a laugh, but it’s more of a polite gesture than anything. His lungs are heavy. “I missed him so much,” he whispers. “Why didn’t I visit?”

“Peter,” May admonishes gently, her hand pausing in his hair. “If you think even for a moment that Tony would blame you for not visiting, you’re wrong. He loves you. He’ll understand.”

A pang of fear strikes through Peter and he shoots his eyes up to look at his aunt. “Please don’t tell him.”

May’s eyes harden ever so slightly and the fear that had bloomed oh so quickly in Peter’s soul is just as quickly extinguished. The hand that was in his hair moves to cup his cheek. She rubs a thumb under his eye. “He loves you, Peter,” she repeats. “He nearly died for you. Nothing you do or say will ever change how he feels about you.”

Peter sniffles and looks down at his hands clasped in his lap. “I wish he hadn’t. Almost died…for me. I don’t deserve that.”

“I would,” May says and he wrenches his eyes shut. “I would die for you.”

“Don’t say that,” Peter breathes. “Please.”

May sighs, and Peter thinks that she had conceded. Then, she pulls his face back up to meet her eyes, and Peter knows that whatever she says now will be the end all be all.

“You would die for Morgan, wouldn’t you?”

Peter pauses and stares at May, wondering if he heard her right. “Of course I would,” Peter says, incredulous. “She’s a child.”

“But if it was between her and someone else’s child,” May presses, and Peter knows that this is an argument he won’t win. “You’d protect her.”

Peter knows the answer, and it’s with a resolute nod of his head that his shoulders droop and his mind clears just a little.

“Morgan’s your sister, Peter,” May whispers, and her hand goes back to his scalp. “You would die for her the same way Tony almost did for you.”

A beat passes, and Peter offers a small laugh. “I wish he’d stop doing that shit.”

May allows it as Peter hears her smile. “Fair enough.”

Pepper comes into the room about half an hour later. She seems a little more put together as she comes to sit in the chair beside Peter, scooting close to her husband. She puts her hand gently on what remains of his right shoulder, her thumb moving back and forth across the thin fabric of the hospital gown.

“What did Dr. Cho say?” May asks after a few moments, half sitting on one of the armrests on Peter’s chair. He presses against her best he can.

Pepper nods and tugs a strand of loose hair behind her ear. “She’s optimistic. She said that after he goes through physical therapy, he’ll be more or less himself again.”

“More or less?” Peter parrots with a pang of unease.

Pepper is quick to placate, though. “She just means he’ll have to get used to living life with three limbs instead of four; though, knowing Tony, he’ll figure something out.”

Peter huffs a smile and May does as well. Pepper continues: “He’ll also have to be on medication. Helen isn’t sure what he’ll need quite yet, but it’s just to keep things moving smoothly for the foreseeable future. More doctor’s appointments that he’ll for sure bitch and moan about, the usual stuff.”

“Is she at all concerned about the damage the gauntlet’s gamma radiation did?” May asks after a beat, hesitant. “Like, cellularly?”

“You’re asking if he’s more susceptible for cancer?” Pepper says, and Peter can’t even fathom how much he wishes that it weren’t a possibility.

Pepper sighs. “It’s hard to say, which is why she’ll have tons of specialists on hand as he starts to come back around. She said that the surgeons removed all the abnormal cells they could detect, which were located almost exclusively in his arm, but these things aren’t guaranteed. Anyone could have cancer.”

“But he’ll be okay, right?” Peter murmurs, and he knows that nobody has the answer for that kind of question right now. Hell, there may never be an answer. But, just for a moment, Peter wants to slip into the childhood comfort of trusting that the adults around him know life’s answers, no matter how naïve it is. And thankfully for Peter, both Pepper and May seem to understand.

“Helen believes that Tony will be able to live the rest of his life to the absolute fullest,” Pepper says, and she smiles, a shape that Peter can find no misery in no matter how hard he looks. He notices her fingers brush against the bare patch of scarred skin on Tony’s neck, featherlight and gentle. “And I trust her with that.”

May presses gently against Peter, and he leans into her in response. The sound of Tony’s mechanical breaths fills the empty air.

Peter comes every day after that.

Just like the nurse had promised, the machines that were used to keep him alive start to dwindle in number. The heart monitor and the ventilator remain, along with an IV drip and a catheter, but that’s about it. His blood starts to flow better, the fluid in his lungs evaporates, relinquishing Tony of that awful wheezing, and his eyes start to move under his eyelids.

Peter’s alone in the room with Tony when he witnesses that last part.

It’s the twelfth day since Tony was relieved of his comatose status. Colonel Rhodes had visited a few times, and Happy had as well. May only visited twice more with Peter – she still had work shifts do take care of. Pepper seemed like she had never left, and maybe she hadn’t. Peter knew that Colonel Rhodes and Happy were taking shifts watching Morgan (who still wasn’t able to see her dad), but Peter wondered if Pepper hadn’t been home since Tony had woken for the first time. Peter also saw another boy walk out of the room once, tall and lanky with sandy, curly hair. The boy regarded Peter with a short nod before passing him in the hallway and leaving. Peter didn’t think he recognized him.

Tony had woken up a few times since Peter’s first visit. Peter had nearly thrown himself into a frenzied panic when he saw Tony’s eyes squint open the first time. Peter had tried getting his mentor’s attention, but even as Peter’s words grew more frantic, Tony’s eyes remained cloudy and dull. He had seemed to struggle a moment with the tubes shoved down his throat, trying to swallow and fight the steady clicks of the ventilator. He had given up pretty quickly, though, and he passed out again before Peter could call a nurse. The next few times, Peter somewhat knew what to expect from Tony – i.e. not much, so when Tony wakes up on the twelfth day, Peter doesn’t get his hopes up.

Peter is sitting on his established hospital chair next to Tony’s bed, scrolling mindlessly through his phone in one hand. The other hand is curling into the sheets of the bed, still subconsciously searching for a hand to hold on to. The sun is starting to set outside the New York skyline.

Something in the bed shifts, a minute tremor, a small change in energy, something that Peter can sense in the marrow of his bones. He looks up from his phone to gaze at Tony’s face. He’s taken slightly aback when he notices the crease between his mentor’s eyebrows; it almost looks like concentration.

Peter clicks his phone off and sets it on the table next to the bed, never taking his eyes off Tony, curious more than concerned. The crease deepens and Peter notices Tony’s eyes moving underneath his eyelids, almost like he is dreaming.

_Maybe that’s what’s happening,_ Peter considers.

It’s only a few more seconds until Tony’s eyebrows lift, like he’s trying his absolute hardest to open his eyes. It seems like his eyes pop open for a flash, barely a moment in time, because he groans around the tubes, and the crease returns to his forehead.

Peter’s breath catches. He leans ever so slightly closer, watching Tony’s face become more and more animated by the second.

“Mr. Stark?” he tries, his voice a rasp.

Tony seems to take a pause and the lines in his face soften a little. His head twitches towards Peter, but the movement is so quick and tiny, Peter isn’t sure it happened.

“It’s Peter,” Peter says, his voice barely a breath. “You’re okay, I’m okay. Everything’s okay.”

The words seem to do something because Tony’s eyelids start to flutter open, barely a hint of movement. His eyelashes stick together, and he has to blink a few times to get them to untangle. The sliver of Tony’s eyes that Peter can see are brighter and more lucid than Peter has seen from him in the past week and a half. They aren’t quite the vibrancy that Peter’s used to seeing from his mentor, but the change is drastic enough for Peter to feel an invisible weight lift from his shoulders. Tony turns his gaze and his eyes settle on Peter, and, this time, Peter can see recognition bloom in the dark of Tony’s irises.

Tony can see Peter.

“Hey,” Peter smiles, and suddenly he can’t see through the wash of tears in his eyes. “That was one hell of a nap, sir.”

Peter isn’t sure if Tony quite understands what he’s saying, but it’s vividly clear that Tony is finally, _finally_ hearing and seeing Peter. And that’s enough.

Tony blinks again, and his eyes open a little wider. The dry skin at the corner of his lips pull slightly outwards, and it’s a few seconds until Peter realizes that Tony is trying to smile.

Peter’s own smile is growing wider when he notices that Tony’s expression changes. Peter’s grin drops a little when the shift happens, the crease reappearing between Tony’s eyebrows. Tony makes another noise, a hollow sort of sound that vibrates against the tubing. The sound must startle him because there’s a violent burst of panic that ignites in Tony’s eyes, and he gasps.

The ventilator makes an odd sound, almost like a compressed hiss as its beat is thrown off rhythm. It gets back on its track for a second before Tony forces a breath again, causing the machine to detest.

Tony makes another desperate sort of sound as he fights the ventilator, his teeth grinding against the plastic. He can’t get a breath.

“Mr. Stark, hey, stop,” Peter says, his voice still a whisper, though he knows it may not be for long. He reaches out with a hand and grasps the top of Tony’s shoulder. “It’s just a ventilator, you need to stop breathing.”

Tony has the audacity to look incredulous at Peter’s demand, and, any other time it would be hilarious, but Tony is panicking, which is decidedly not great. Tony’s next struggling breath seems to be the straw that breaks the camel’s back because something in the ventilator’s machinery grinds, clicks, and an alarm goes off. It’s an incessant beeping, and though it’s not loud enough to be piercing, it is to gather attention. It must freak Tony out even more because he flinches, and screws his eyes shut; his rigid body bleeds tension.

Peter’s trying to stay calm, because he can tell that nothing is truly actually wrong, but seeing someone else in distress, especially someone like Tony, doesn’t bode well for Peter’s anxiety either.

“Tony,” Peter tries again, and he can hear footsteps thundering down the hallway, closer to the room. “Tony, you’re okay. I promise you’re okay. Stop fighting it. You’re okay.”

Peter’s not sure if the words do anything because a swarm of nurses descend upon Tony’s bed and he’s gently guided out of the way. Dr. Cho is at the helm, gesturing to the personnel at her side and to the machines. Peter can barely see around their bodies, but the alarm on the machine turns off.

“Is there a system leak?” Dr. Cho asks one of the nurses as she and another doctor crowd around Tony’s head and torso. Peter’s insides twist when Tony releases another scared groan.

“Ventilator is functioning normally,” the nurse responds after examining the machine and pressing a few buttons.

“No signs of pneumothorax or PE,” Dr. Cho says. “Complexion is okay. Might be agitation. He seems to be steady enough to breathe on his own. Someone get me a bag and let’s extubate him.”

“Mr. Parker!” someone grabs Peter’s arm.

Peter doesn’t startle per say, but it’s a near thing. He looks at the nurse who grabbed him. He sounds like he had maybe said Peter’s name a few times. His features are drawn and tired under his mask. “Why don’t you step outside while we get Mr. Stark situated?”

Peter has to force himself to focus on the nurse in front of him, and not the action at his back. The nurse squeezes at his arm again and Peter nods and looks down, letting the nurse guide him out the door, the bustle of the medics muffling as the door shuts.

The nurse sits Peter down on the bench across the hallway from the door, giving him a half-hearted pat on the forearm. “We’ll let you know when he’s ready,” the nurse promises before moving away and walking back into the room. The door clicks shut.

Peter wishes his hearing weren’t so good.

Or, no, maybe he wishes it were better because he startles when he feels a new hand drop to his shoulder. Something in his neck pulls as he whirls to look at the newcomer.

Pepper gives an apologetic smile and sits down on the bench beside him. She still looks tired, but she doesn’t look unsure anymore, not like she had been the first day. It’s almost normal. “Sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean to scare you,” she says, turning her gaze to look at the door. She gives an odd, sort of endearing grimace. “My husband causing trouble?”

Peter glances at her to gage her words, but she still doesn’t sound upset or scared. Maybe she had known something Peter hadn’t. Maybe she knew Tony was supposed to wake up. He doesn’t feel like asking, though, so he just shrugs. “You could say that.”

Pepper doesn’t push much further than that. She just gathers one of Peter’s hands between her own and holds it tightly. Something unwinds in Peter and his shoulders relax. The gesture is small, but Peter is soothed by it. “He was scared,” Peter admits, and Pepper squeezes his hand gently. “I’m not sure he knows what’s…happened.”

“Probably not,” Pepper agrees quietly, and Peter tries to block out the shuffling of the doctors behind the door. “But that’s why he’s so damn lucky to have you here.”

Peter frowns and looks at Pepper. “He has you.”

Pepper just smiles her soft smile and her eyes are deeply sincere. “You, darling, are tangible proof that everything he fought for went right.” She pauses and Peter can sense a wave of emotion wash over her. Pepper shifts in her seat slightly, and tugs on Peter’s hand so it is almost to her chest. Peter can feel her heartbeat pulse through the air.

“He was so ready to die to make sure that you lived,” Pepper says, and her voice is thick with a shadow of a potential future that wasn’t hers. Peter pities a universe where Tony never came home. “And for him to see that you’re here and breathing will mean everything to him.”

Peter contemplates her words for a moment, and he offers her a tiny smile. “He’s lucky to have you too, Mrs. Potts. And Morgan. And everyone. I’m glad he has people to come back to.”

“Me too,” Pepper agrees, and she moves one of her hands from Peter’s hand to clasp at the back of his head. She pulls him closer and he closes his eyes as she kisses him softly on his forehead. “Me too.”

It’s only a few minutes later that the army of nurses emerge from Tony’s room. Both Pepper and Peter stand as they pass. Some of the nurses nod and smile at them, which increases Peter’s confidence for Tony by the second. Dr. Cho is the last to leave and her entire being emanates hope and strength, and, for the first time since being in this hospital, Peter is excited to hear what she has to say.

“He is officially awake,” Dr. Cho says, and Pepper relaxes with relief; Peter could collapse with how happy he is to hear those words. “He’ll be spending a lot of time sleeping for the next few weeks, but that’s just because his body is still healing, and he still needs time. He’s still on intravenous nutrients and I’ve decided to put him on an oxygen cannula just to help with his breathing, but other than that, he’s steadily on the road to recovery.”

“Helen, I – I can’t even express to you how thankful we are,” Pepper says, her smile the widest Peter has seen in months. Her tears are happy and so are his. “I can’t believe it.”

Dr. Cho smiles back, and Peter notices that even she looks emotional over the whole thing.

_This is real,_ Peter thinks and he’s so amazed that it isn’t a dream.

_Tony’s coming home._

“I will continue to do the best I can to make sure he goes home in the absolute best health,” Dr. Cho promises, and it sounds like she wouldn’t settle for anything less. “We’ll take everything that may come in stride.”

“We know you will,” Pepper says. “Thank you so _so_ much.”

“Thank you,” Peter parrots tearfully, and though he feels that it’s lackluster coming out of his mouth, Dr. Cho smiles at him anyways.

“Always,” Dr. Cho says, and she steps to the side, revealing the open door at her back. “You may go see him if you’d like.”

She doesn’t even need to finish the sentence before Peter is lurching forwards, leaving Pepper to exchange a few words with Dr. Cho. He trots through the door, too anxious to slow his gait.

He approaches Tony’s bed, and it’s almost odd to not hear the steady clicks of the ventilator that used to fill the room, like a mechanical heartbeat.

Tony is most certainly awake, but he is clearly very tired. With the panic gone, and medication graciously administered, Peter knows he doesn’t have much time before Tony inevitably nods off. Peter moves towards Tony’s bed, resolutely avoiding his right side.

Tony’s eyes follow him the whole time, still slightly cloudy with drugs and exhaustion, but it’s such a vast improvement it makes Peter’s anxiety almost vanish. He sits in the chair beside Tony and grabs his left hand with both of his, and, with a burst of happiness that flowers in his chest like a fourth of July firework, Tony squeezes Peter’s hands. Weakly, gently, but he does.

“Tony,” Peter breathes, and he can barely get the word past the clump of emotion gathering at the back of his throat.

Tony manages to dredge up a smile, just a slight pull at the corners of his lips. His throat clicks when he swallows, and he only manages a small, conversational sound in his throat when he tries to speak. He doesn’t seem too peeved by it because he just squeezes Peter’s hand again.

“I really missed you,” Peter whispers, and it’s so fucking raw, so fucking true. The smile that Tony had managed morphs into a frown, and that little crease between his eyebrows comes back. Peter isn’t sure, but he thinks he hears Tony sniffle.

It could’ve just been the oxygen.

Tony’s thumb moves over the back of Peter’s hand, just barely a millimeter before going back again. It must shatter something inside Peter because he can’t speak anymore, throat clogged with a wave of however-fucking-many months of grief. From the Snap, to Tony almost dying, and the guilt, all of it, comes back with a sheer, brutal force. It leaves Peter shaking.

“Don’t ever do that again,” Peter hisses behind clenched teeth, barely able to speak without shattering. He’s feeling too much at once, and all of it settles in the core of his chest.

_Is this what the arc reactor felt like?_ Peter thinks, and immediately dismisses the thought.

_Don’t be selfish._

Peter quietly spirals, and Tony continues to rub his hand. It’s not until around half a minute later, that Peter notices someone’s talking to him. He can’t make out the words, but it’s a soft, grounding beat of noise.

The voice, ( _wait, no,_ Peter thinks as his thoughts start to reorganize), _voices_ become clearer as the minute passes.

“It’s okay Peter, everything’s okay.”

“Breathe, kid.”

The voices push through the syrup, and he recognizes one of the calming voices as Pepper. He starts to return to his surroundings, the cool, crisp air. He feels Pepper’s hand rubbing his back. She’s still muttering quietly to him, soft breaths of calming words in attempt to soothe him.

It works, and it clears the air just enough for Peter to hear the second voice penetrating the space. It’s a sound that’s barely there, barely a whisper. Peter almost has to struggle to hear it. It becomes clear, though, as the moments stretch, that the second person speaking is Tony. Peter looks over to him, almost startled out of his panic.

Tony’s obviously struggling to form words. His lips are dry, and the skin on his cheeks must hurt. He hasn’t used his voice since he snapped, the words are so scratchy and raspy, they’re almost incomprehensible. But Tony doesn’t seem to care. His eyes are focused on Peter, and the rawness of his gaze makes Peter want to cry again.

“S’okay…kid,” Tony says, and his hand twitches. Peter realizes that he must have dropped Tony’s hand in his panic, and he scrambles to hold it again. The warmth of Tony’s hand soothes Peter more than he’d like to admit.

His lifeline.

“S’okay.” The struggle to form coherent words seems to take Tony out. His eyes droop, and his breaths start to change. He tries to jolt himself awake, eyes fluttering.

“You can rest, Tony,” Pepper says, and she reaches over and places her hand on top of both Tony’s and Peter’s. “We’ll both be here when you wake up.”

Tony regards her with exhausted eyes. He tries to form another set of words, but he can barely manage a twitch in his lips. A sigh shudders from his nose, and Peter feels Tony’s grip tighten.

“M’okay, Tony,” Peter promises, and he squeezes Tony’s hand back gently. “I’m okay.”

That must’ve been what Tony wants to hear because his eyes shut, and he’s out within a minute.

It’s touch and go for a few months. Peter continues to visit as often as he can, which ends up being four or five times a week. Sometimes Tony is awake – most of the time, he isn’t. Dr. Cho insists that it’s normal for him to be sleeping that much, given the physical and mental hell he had gone through. “I’ve never seen him sleep this much in my life,” Pepper comments at one point, and though Peter laughs with her, he realizes that she’s right. The thought is foreign and disconcerting.

When Tony is awake, it’s usually not for longer than thirty minutes at a time. He’s at the point where Peter can tell he’s starting to get frustrated. Between the bedrest, the machines, his struggle to speak, and the pain, Peter’s sure he’s never seen him so irritable. He doesn’t take offense to it, though; he would be frustrated too if he were in Tony’s place.

There are some days where Tony won’t speak at all. Pepper or Rhodey will try to engage with him, but he seems to just shut down, staring off into space, maybe squeezing someone’s hand in response to a question. Peter can tell that he’s trying to save face, with a small smattering of mumbled jokes or nicknames, but it seems he’s just too tired to put up a good façade anymore.

It’s a far cry from what Peter is used to seeing from him. And it’s awful to see.

It’s when Morgan first visits when there’s a palpable change in Tony’s attitude.

“Now,” Pepper says from in the hallway. “It might be a little scary seeing Daddy in the hospital, but he misses you very much. You’re such a brave girl.”

Peter smiles as he sits next to Tony. He knows that his mentor’s right ear is almost completely deaf, so he isn’t able to hear Pepper and his daughter talking out in the hallway. It’s very much a surprise.

“Whazzat smile for?” Tony asks, and Peter’s glad that it seems to be a better day today. “You look like you’re sch-scheming.”

“Scheming is your thing,” Peter says, glancing at his mentor with a smile.

Tony huffs and grins. “Tha’s why m’ concerned.”

Then, the door opens on the other side of the room. Tony turns his head to see who enters, and Peter can hear the breath _whoosh_ out of him when he sees little Morgan at Pepper’s side.

The young girl is tentative, grasping her mom’s hand with an iron grip as the pair step into the room. Morgan’s eyes rove the room until they land on her dad laying in the bed. Despite everything, despite the machines, and the scarring, and the months, Morgan’s face splits into a wide grin and her little feet stamp on the ground excitedly.

“Daddy!” she shouts, her pitch making Peter wince a little. Pepper has to keep a strong hold on her daughter to keep her from barreling into Tony’s bed like a bull in a china shop. Morgan pulls at her mom, her feet slipping on the smooth floor like something out of a cartoon as she goes up to Tony. Once she’s at the foot of the bed, Pepper picks her up by her armpits and sets her down in the space next to Tony. He looks at her, and the ferocity of emotion and love spilling out of his being is insurmountable.

“Hey baby,” he says. He reaches up with a shaking hand and puts it on her head. He’s gentle with her. “You’re such a…a br-brave girl.”

“I missed you Daddy,” Morgan says, and she’s clearly trying to not tackle Tony with one of her infamous hugs. She then brandishes a small stuffed dinosaur that Peter hadn’t noticed before and presents it to Tony with both her hands.

“Daisy missed you too!” she says, and she reaches down to place the small green t-rex on Tony’s neck. “She’s hugging you.”

Tony hums, moving his hand to snuggle the small toy into his cheek. Peter’s positive he’s never seen Tony like this, and it’s incredible for him to watch. “She…gives nice hugs,” Tony comments. “But you know who g-gives better hugs?” Morgan’s eyes light up as she catches her dad’s drift.

Pepper catches on pretty quickly to Tony’s intentions, and she places her hands on Morgan’s shoulders to get her attention. Morgan is practically vibrating with excitement. “Be _very_ gentle, okay Morgan? Here, let’s go on this side.”

With some gentle maneuvering, Morgan settles carefully on Tony’s left side where he can cradle her with his arm. She snuggles up to her dad calmly and carefully, curling into his side. Tony places his arm around her and presses his lips to her hair. His eyes scrunch up and they start to redden. He screws his eyes shut as tears start to fall. His breathing turns wet, and his grip around his daughter becomes impossibly tighter.

“I love you, Morguna,” Tony manages in a strangled whisper.

“Three thousand?” Morgan asks in a voice that’s uncharacteristically soft.

“Infinity,” Tony corrects. Morgan breathes softly in awe, almost like she can’t imagine something that large.

“Well,” she says in her bold, as-a-matter-of-fact voice. “I love you infinity _and one_.” She says it with such conviction and finality it makes both Peter and Pepper chuckle. Tony tries to, but it comes out wrenched through the tears and the weakness. Peter thinks it’s a wonderful sound. It’s the first time he’s laughed in months.

“That sh-sure is a lot of - of love, little miss,” Tony murmurs, and he glances at Peter, some deep emotion swirling just beneath the surface of his expression.

“Mmhm,” she agrees, snuggling closer. “Mommy and Petey love you too, but I love you the most-est.”

“It’s just ‘most,’ dear,” Pepper gently corrects, and Morgan repeats the word back.

“There’s no…doubt in my m-mind,” Tony says, offering Peter a small, tired smile before looking back down at his daughter. “H-how’re your uncles doin’? I heard R-Rh-… _mm_ , Jim got you a lil’ kitten.”

Peter listens as Morgan tells her dad about her uncles, the new kitten (Monty, if Peter remembers. Tony tries to be exasperated and annoyed over it, but everybody knows that he has a soft spot for cats), Gerald, and school. Pepper sits herself next to Tony, on his right side, listening fondly as their daughter weaves her stories.

At one point, Morgan frowns and asks why Peter isn’t sitting on the bed too. Tony laughs. “Some…times he thinks he needs a… an invitation.” Peter blushes a little, but he smiles when Morgan offers him a “permanent invitation” to be on the bed. He rolls his eyes and sits at Morgan’s feet. She extends her legs over his thighs, which forces him to scoot even closer. Even though his back is to Tony, he feels as though this is the closest he’s been to him since he almost died on the battlefield. Morgan continues her story, unaware of the unspoken emotion settled between both Peter and Tony.

When Peter leaves for the day, something almost makes him want to say something. But Tony’s asleep, Morgan is too, and Pepper’s looking at him like she already knows.

“He’s scared to say it,” Pepper says in lieu of a goodbye. “But he loves you. He loves you so much.”

Peter looks at her, and then looks down at Tony. He gives a smile. It hurts.

He knows. He loves him too. But not only is it scary to say, it’s scary to feel.

Pepper must notice Peter’s expression, because she looks sympathetic when Peter meets her eyes. “I think you both are afraid of it.”

A lump forms in Peter’s throat, and he swallows it down to his stomach. It feels worse there. “Can you blame us?” He thinks it sounds weird, and judgmental coming from his mouth, but Pepper doesn’t look upset or even surprised.

She sighs, resigned and sad. “No. Nobody can.”

It’s a year after Tony’s snap. He’s still in the hospital, but it’s almost entirely for monitoring purposes now. No more surgeries, no more machines, no more prying ghosts in the walls.

Dr. Cho promises a few more weeks, and then he can go home permanently.

Tony, for all intents and purposes, is the same old Tony that Peter remembers. The things that mattered stuck like glue.

“I swear to god,” Tony says, waltzing back into his room with his usual flair. Peter is laying on his mentor’s bed, feet near the headboard, Nintendo Switch in hand when Tony comes back from wherever he had been. Peter thinks he would’ve startled had his hearing not been better.

“You guys act like Taco Bell doesn’t exist or something,” Tony gripes. “Because every time I ask for one of you to throw me a bone, suddenly you forget the American habit of appropriating cultures while hating the people who have those cultures.”

Peter smirks and casts another fishing line in his game. “Those sure were words.”

“This is what I’m talking about,” Tony huffs, throwing his arm up in exasperation. Peter wouldn’t mention it, but he thinks it still looks off-putting to see Tony gesticulate now; the missing arm is blatantly obvious when he does. “Nobody here has respect for the crippled elderly.”

“Oh, sure, _now_ you’re crippled and elderly,” Peter says. “Just sneak out like we know you do and get some yourself. Everybody knows you have more money than God.”

“I pay you too much,” Tony says, and Peter laughs. He is slightly upset that he catches yet another crucian carp, but he just casts another line.

“Also, you still have an apartment, right?” Tony says, now standing by the bed, and Peter looks up at him in confusion. “Yeah? Good. So why the fuck do you feel the need to crawl into _my_ bed like some sort of homeless child? I feel like I’m abusing you.”

“You are.”

“You’re working with one more limb than I am so do me a favor and scooch over before I kick you onto this linoleum floor.”

Peter frowns, playful. “Not sure this room would look good in red.”

Tony snorts. “Exactly. Scoot.”

With a huff, Peter shuffles to the side of the bed, leaving space for Tony to occupy the rest. Tony gets on the bed and settles down with ease, crossing his legs at his ankles, and fishing his phone out of his sweatpants’ pockets. “Whatcha’ playing?” he asks Peter, unlocking his phone.

“Animal Crossing,” Peter says, still waiting for another bite. “I’m gone fishin’.”

“You’ve got Morgan addicted to that game,” Tony says. “She loves Isabelle.”

“Who doesn’t?” Peter replies, and he sees Tony smile out of the corner of his eye.

The silence is comfortable for a while. Peter continues his game while Tony does various things on his phone, sometimes asking F.R.I.D.A.Y. for something.

It’s about an hour later when Peter can tell that something is on Tony’s mind. He keeps putting down his phone but picking it up again when he realizes it’s the only thing he can do with his hands. Nervous energy is crawling through his form. Peter tries to ignore it, because he knows that saying something now would just close Tony off. He has to wait for Tony to say something, as heartbreaking and upsetting as it is.

“I can’t stop thinking,” Tony says after about 20 minutes of uncomfortable silence. Peter’s long since given up fishing, instead gone to catching bugs instead when his mentor speaks. Peter looks up from his screen, neck cramping slightly from laying without a pillow, and gazes at his mentor. His heart twinges when he looks at his mentor’s face. The lines in his skin are sharp with some kind of bone-deep worry, eyes alight with dark flashes of something melancholic and scared.

Peter would make a joke at the hefty pause after Tony’s words, but something has clearly jarred him. It’s not something Peter wants him to dismiss. “About..?” Peter urges gently.

Tony looks to meet Peter’s eyes. He seems shocked that Peter had said anything at all. Peter’s not sure how to feel about that.

It takes another couple seconds of silence before Tony sighs, resigned, throwing all caution into the wind. “You,” he admits. He still seems scared.

Peter frowns and puts the Switch on his chest. Dainty music still plays from the speakers. “Yeah?” he says, a little confused.

“Yeah,” Tony breathes, and he shifts on the bed. He then adverts his gaze, staring at his hands. Now Peter _knows_ that something’s wrong. Using Tony’s ankles as leverage (kind of hoping that physical contact might help), he sits up and pulls his legs in, sitting crisscross. He still doesn’t say anything. He just waits for Tony to gather his thoughts.

Admittedly, Peter wants to say something. He doesn’t know what to make of Tony’s expression, and, frankly, it’s a little unnerving. He’s not sure why Tony would be thinking about _him_ of all people, especially since Peter’s been here for a long time now. Peter’s not sure what barrier is left.

But, then again, it’s Tony. And Peter knows that he’s not better, either.

Tony blows out through his lips and meets Peter’s gaze again, eyes haunted. “I – I don’t want to believe this.”

Peter’s frown deepens, and he can say he’s spooked by Tony’s openness. “Believe what?”

Tony cracks a smile, something sharp, and gestures to the room. “This.” He then points to himself, and Peter can hear his teeth clack together. He then points to Peter, his gesture hesitant and shaky.

“I know what I’m seeing,” Tony says. “But, god, I can’t tell you if it’s real.”

Peter swallows and hedges carefully, ignoring the discomfort and fear in his stomach that whispers the same sentiment. “Do you think I’m not?”

Tony falls silent for a moment again, looking stumped. “No,” he finally says as he drops his hand to his lap. He still sounds unsure. “I just don’t know in what universe I get to keep this. I don’t want to believe that everything isn’t just going to vanish again.”

“Again?” Peter can’t help but ask. He thinks he knows what Tony means, but he kind of doesn’t want to be right.

Tony looks at him, imploring. “You disappeared in my hands, Peter. I can’t just… _believe_ that that won’t happen again.” He shook his head, as if to dispel the thought. “I can’t afford that.”

Peter tries to keep the memories at bay: the pain, the fear, Tony’s stunned, confused, and terrified silence. He shakes his head too, instead concentrating on the music coming from his game. “You’re afraid it was all for nothing.”

By the way Tony’s leg jolts, Peter can surmise that he’s on the right track.

Peter breathes in, and stares at his hands in his lap. “I died. For five years, I wasn’t here. Everyone says that you did this for me. I hate it, I hate it so much, but –,” Peter pauses and feels something uncoil inside of him. “- I get it.”

Tony takes in a shuddering breath and shifts in the bed again. “Watching you…die…was the worst thing to ever happen to me. And I’m scared, I am so _scared._ I wouldn’t have the strength to watch someone I care about die again.”

“Me neither,” Peter mutters, and it’s a moment before he realizes what he’s just done. Different thoughts, almost more agonizing thoughts, start to creep into Peter’s mind. The dirty air, a flash of white, the smell of burnt skin.

Tony struggling to breathe.

“Peter,” Tony says calmly, quietly, and it blurs the memories out just a little. “I’m right here.”

“I know,” Peter sniffs, pulling his hands close to his chest, rubbing his thumb across the skin on his knuckles. “But I still saw it. I still saw _you._ ”

There are a few moments of silence before Tony chuckles; it’s a small, sad sound. “Seems we’re sharing the same kinds of thoughts, huh.”

Peter tries to laugh too, but it’s a horrifically strangled sound. He hates that it reminds him of Tony. He starts to cry again, tears blurring his vision. “Yeah,” he manages wetly, pushing his nose into his clasped hands.

“C’mere, kiddo,” Tony murmurs, and he extends his arm up onto the pillows at his side. “I think this could help both of us.”

Peter untangles himself from his self-comfort and shuffles over to Tony. The Switch lays on the sheets behind him. Peter tucks himself under Tony’s arm and curls into his side, immediately relaxed by the contact. Tony’s warm beneath his hoodie, and his heart is a comforting sound beneath Peter’s ear.

Tony wraps his arm around Peter’s body, and it reminds Peter of how Tony would lay with Morgan. He pulls Peter impossibly closer and presses his cheek into his hair.

A few minutes pass and the thoughts are gone. Peter feels safer than he has in a long time. Tony’s real and solid and breathing, and Peter doesn’t think that there is any better security in the world.

“I love you,” Peter says into the cloth of Tony’s hoodie. The underlying fear of admitting such a thing, and the curse that Peter is so sure exists, is so miniscule compared to the moment now. It feels like the words should have been heavy in his mouth, like they should have tasted weird, but they didn’t. It was easier to say than Peter ever would have thought.

The ghosts of his losses feel quiet and kind.

Tony is silent for a few more seconds, and Peter knows that he’s trying to find the words too. Peter is still scared, terrified of them, the history of raw loss that they bring. But they’re true. And Tony’s still here. That has to mean something.

“You don’t have to say it back,” Peter offers softly. “I already know.”

Tony hums, and the sound is emotional. “Do you now?” he replies in typical Tony fashion.

“Mhm,” Peter says, readjusting his head ever so slightly. “Nobody would ever save the world for someone they didn’t.”

Peter is halfway asleep when Tony says it. It's barely a whisper, muffled by Peter's curly hair. But it's there. He falls asleep with the ghost of a smile on his face, the words echoing inside his mind.

"I love you too, kiddo."

**Author's Note:**

> send me requests on tumblr @witete!


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